Yohji Yamamoto’s work is often described as an act of controlled destruction; and if one wants to understand high command of technique, there is a near-total absence of colour and print in his work over the last 40 years. That’s how irrelevant they are to his practice—how little he relies on anything but construction to communicate. His garments reject traditional Western ideals of fit and proportion, embracing asymmetry, oversized draping, and a preference for black that emphasises form over embellishment. Coming up in Paris in the 1980s, during the Versace-sexy-glitterati era, Yohji exposed sensuality through exaggerated form to an audience that had yet to grapple with the art of layering; Yohji famously noted that “it meant something to me—the idea of a coat guarding and hiding a woman’s body. For me, a woman who is absorbed in her work, who does not care about gaining one’s favor, strong yet subtle at the same time, is essentially more seductive.” Through techniques such as exposed stitching, fabric layering, and the deliberate use of raw edges, Yohji’s work reconfigures the relationship between clothing and the body. His designs are architectural in their ability to create space around the body, shaping volume through negative space and movement rather than rigid structures.
In 1988, (my sartorial mother) Michèle Lamy hired her young, bright-eyed boyfriend, Rick Owens, as a patternmaker for a clothing line. So impressed by his talents, Michèle helped Rick launch his own label in 1994—and the rest is living, breathing, independent fashion history. Rick approaches construction with a sculptor’s hand, creating garments that balance brutality with elegance. Committed entirely to the punk attitudes of his youth, his use of draping and layering often results in a softened, almost ethereal take on minimalism; ever imbued with tones of harshness, and his impassioned cries for a more socially conscious and liberated world. A master of ‘basics’ (and impeccable fabrication instincts) Rick’s manipulation of bias cutting and soft draping lends his designs a futuristic quality; the never-ending architectural approach that governs his post-apocalyptic visions and reverence for the ancient. Few designers today are as willing to risk and dream to the degree that Rick does— to the point where sometimes even I find myself questioning his choices. Yes, I’m talking about the Cargoflares. Hectic.
From a South Africa perspective, construction is a key technique in developing a design language that forges our future, with a unique task of reconciling indigenous and western influences. Thebe Magugu, for example, is defined by sharp tailoring, thoughtful silhouettes (and layering), and an acute understanding of construction that merges strict, structured lines with softer, more fluid elements. Thebe’s attention to detail—whether through precise darts, layered panels, or pleated accents—has the unique role of rendering each piece he designs into an artifact of cultural history; the many incredible collections that reference South African heritage, from political iconography to familial narratives. This use of technical precision and deep cultural resonance positions Thebe’s work as both contemporary and archival— love-letters to what was, what should have been and what might be. In many ways, his approach speaks to a broader movement in South African fashion, as a way of encoding history and identity into fashion.
Sindiso Khumalo’s approach to construction is deeply intertwined with her use of textiles. Her voluminous, feminine silhouettes are often achieved through fabric manipulation techniques that reflect historical storytelling, and by incorporating hand-drawn prints, embroidery, and pleating, Khumalo crafts garments that carry personal and collective histories, particularly those of Black South African women; with references to historical dressing, as a process of reclamation.
Lukhanyo Mdingi’s work is a study in the precision of form. His collections emphasise craftsmanship, and his silhouettes often play with proportion, balancing structured elements with flowing, relaxed details that speak to an effortless refinement. By integrating artisanal techniques and motivated by deeply cultivated relationships with craftspeople on the continent, Lukhanyo’s work is grounded in a slow, intentional approach to fashion—one that respects both materiality and cultural lineage. With an LM garment, one is looking at something so enriched, that also appears ‘thrown on’; the imprint of an organic ease—rooted in a philosophy that values tactility and a connection to the land.
Fashion, like architecture, is an exercise in shaping space and constructing narratives through material and form. This is an endless study and one I remain in my infancy in terms of understanding, but I really believe if we can appreciate how form, silhouette, and construction convey design messages, we can be reminded of fashion’s deeper purpose: to build, to challenge, and to tell stories, amidst the onslaught and crashing dread of consumerism.
The next time you’re drawn to a garment, can you try to pinpoint three things about the way it’s constructed that you notice, and love?
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